


With Just One Hand

by Rosawyn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Real World, American Sign Language, Asexual Character, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Disabled Character, Cerebral Palsy, Charles in a Wheelchair, Charles is a Teacher, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, First Meetings, HoH Steve Rogers, Kissing, Language Barrier, M/M, Mathematics, Multilingual Natasha, POV Bucky Barnes, Self-Worth Issues, Skinny!Steve, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Texting, Winterhawk Week, passing notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky never thought starting at a new school,  trying to make new friends, might require learning a new language.  It might just be the most frustratingly difficult language he's ever tried to learn...it's just harder for him than it is for most people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Just One Hand

**Author's Note:**

> For [Winterhawk Week 2015](http://winterhawkweek.tumblr.com/post/127945102591/winterhawk-week-2015), using the optional themes “Friends” and “Bonding.” 
> 
> This fic grew out of a conversation I had with my friend Flor aka [fuckyeahdeafandasexual](http://fuckyeahdeafandasexual.tumblr.com/); at least some of the blame/credit belongs to her.
> 
> And of course a huge shout-out to [EstherA2J](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherA2J) for the wonderful beta! And also to Flor herself, [Hawk](http://marveloushawk.tumblr.com/), and Luc (aka [themlittlesummerthings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ocaptainrogers/pseuds/themlittlesummerthings)) for additional help and encouragement. :)

Bucky jumped out of the car, backpack tucked as securely as possible under his left arm as he waved to his mom with his right one. “See you after school!”

“Are you sure you don't need me to come in?” she asked, brow furrowing.

Shaking his head, he took a few steps backward away from the car—it was _fine_ ; he wasn't going to trip. “Just get Becca to school on time.” He flashed her a half-smile. “I'll be okay!”

His mom's encouraging smile only held a hint of worry. “Remember you can call me or text me any time!”

“I know, Mom.” Bucky grinned. “See you later too, flame-head,” he added to Becca where she sat in the back seat. She stuck her tongue out at him. He used to try to tell her she was adopted, that's why she was redheaded when neither of their parents were, but she never bought it. Not that there would have been anything 'wrong' with being adopted, of course, because duh. But he'd finally caved in and explained about recessive genes and how he'd read a story once about a little Inuit girl who'd been born with red hair. Then he tried to tell her she was Inuit. Becca was a bit jaded for a kid her age; she never believed any of Bucky's more interesting lies. (Come on, though, who wouldn't want to be Inuit?)

As the car pulled away, Bucky turned, struggling his backpack onto both shoulders—maybe he should've just given in and switched to a messenger bag—his left arm giving all the trouble as usual, and headed into the school. He had a meeting with the principal first thing, and it was probably best not to be late.

o0o

Bucky made a face as he re-checked the paper in his right hand to be sure he was going the right way. The secretary had offered to walk with him, but he wasn't a baby, so he'd said he'd find it alone. He was fifteen years old; he could find _one_ classroom in a dumb school that only had one floor anyway. Because, of course, he only had to find the one classroom; he hadn't been in the regular classes with the regular kids since halfway through his first year of middle school when it was decided that the mainstream track wasn't the best fit for him: he functioned better in smaller groups with more familiarity and less stress. That was a fancy way of saying everyone was tired of him tripping over his own left foot—or fumbling his books and/or bag and then tripping over that, often causing something of a pile-up when other people who were too busy talking or texting to see a sprawl of useless legs and arms on the floor tripped over _him_ —while trying to move between classes. Also, of the tantrums he'd throw when everything got too much and he just needed to scream and kick stuff for a while. To be fair, Bucky had been pretty sick of those himself. Even while they were happening.

So Bucky'd been in the Learning Assistance classroom since, with the dubious benefits of more one-on-one teacher interaction and the dubious downside of being stuck in a room with all the stoners and kids with legitimate learning disabilities for most of each school day. And the teachers had always been discreet when it came to grades, but Bucky'd still always known he was doing better academically than anyone else in the Learning Assistance class. It just—wasn't really anyone's fault. Bucky's disability was entirely physical—okay, and a bit emotional too, apparently, because of where the stupid hunk of scar tissue was stuck in his brain. But it didn't impair his cognitive abilities, and he was good at math, good at science, good at English.

It still took him half of kindergarten to learn to print his name properly—before the doctors and therapists finally admitted what his teachers and parents had already guessed: he was supposed to be left-handed. Biologically, genetically. Before the cerebral palsy messed all that up. (Being left-handed honestly would have come with a bunch of general annoyances anyway, but still.) He'd learned to type pretty damn well with just his right hand. (Faster than the stoners at his last school, anyway.) Typing was usually easier than trying to use a pen or pencil.

Of course, in a new school, things could have been different. Bucky could have tried again to see if he could handle being part of the regular student body. He even had new updated orthotics in his shoes to help prevent trips and falls. But Principal Grey said they'd 'wait and see', see how he did with the students in the Learning Assistance room, see what Mr Xavier thought at the end of the term. Right, whatever. It wasn't like Bucky was overly excited about the prospect of trying to navigate the halls of a new school every day, even if it _was_  quite a lot smaller than his old school.

Well, at least he could find the Learning Assistance classroom—the unassuming blue doorway tucked into a little alcove between the janitor's office and the photography lab.

Bucky turned the knob and swung the door open. Okay, so this school must've been a lot smaller than his previous one, because as small as the room was, it was still nearly deserted. Two guys and a girl sat at one end of a group of six pushed-together table-style desks. The girl's bright red hair, even brighter and redder than Becca's, stood out as red hair tended to do. Both guys had shades of dull blond hair.

A bald man sitting behind the teacher's desk in the corner looked up, distracting Bucky before he really had a chance to get much of a look at his new classmates beyond noting their hair colours, saying, “Ah, good morning.”

“Uh.” Bucky shuffled his feet a bit as he carefully closed the door behind him—maybe he should have shoved the paper in his pocket now that he'd successfully found the right room. “I-I'm Bucky—Bucky Barnes.”

The bald man smiled. “Of course.” He wheeled out from behind the desk—and, okay that was unexpected: he was in a _wheelchair_. Bucky'd never had a teacher with an actual disability before. Mr Trask, a biology teacher at his last school, was a dwarf, which technically counted as a disability—even an obviously visible one—but Bucky never got to take his class. The man in the wheelchair held out his hand to Bucky. “Welcome. I'm Mr Xavier.”

“Oh.” Shoving the piece of paper into his pocket, Bucky took Mr Xavier's hand, shaking it. “I-i-it's, um, good to meet you, sir.”

Mr Xavier smiled as he released Bucky's hand, turning to gesture to the desks that occupied the majority of the room. “Please have a seat—and I'm sure everyone will want to say hi.” Turning fully to face the seated students, Mr Xavier said, “Everyone, this is Bucky Barnes; I hope you'll help him feel welcome.” He moved his hands oddly as he spoke, and it honestly took Bucky too long to realize he was using sign language. It wasn't like Bucky'd never seen it before.

Everyone at the desks offered Bucky the same little wave. He grinned a bit awkwardly, nodding in acknowledgement of the welcome as he shrugged out of his backpack and took a seat across from the redheaded girl, setting his backpack under the desk by his feet.

“Hi. I'm Natasha,” she said, signing as well. Either that was just something they did here at this school, or one of the students was deaf. It was the Learning Assistance classroom, so that second option did feel pretty likely.

One of the guys—the skinny one who also looked like he was maybe twelve if he was lucky and in no way old enough to be enrolled at an actual high school—gave Bucky another little wave and said, “Steve.” He made a sign when he said the name, but Bucky couldn't tell if he was spelling out the letters or what.

“And I'm Clint,” the other guy said, signing. He looked about sixteen, and his hair was spikier and also maybe a shade or two darker than Steve's.

So, okay, signing was a thing they did here, whatever the reason. Bucky swallowed. His sign language vocabulary consisted of about maybe five signs, most of which were probably not 'real' signs anyway. “Is one of you deaf?” Bucky could have swallowed his tongue; that _wasn't_ how he'd meant to ask that.

He closed his eyes in embarrassment, but when he opened them Steve was just pointing at Clint, who said, “Well, one and a _half_ of us,” signing as he spoke, and nudging Steve with his elbow.

“Yeah,” Steve said, raising one shoulder as he signed. “Just the one ear.”

And...okay, that actually explained pretty well why everyone was signing. But Bucky wasn't catching any of the signs. Maybe he wasn't meant to? If they were just for Clint and Steve's benefit. But... What about when he spoke? Steve could probably catch most with his not deaf ear, but would Clint get _any_ of it? How had Clint known what Bucky had asked, anyway? Maybe someone had translated when Bucky wasn't paying attention. “I-I don't...don't actually know any sign language,” Bucky admitted.

“I shouldn't worry,” Mr Xavier spoke up from behind his desk. “You'll pick some up eventually—it's not strictly required, of course, but it can fulfil a foreign language requirement if you so choose.”

“Tasha's already got all the foreign languages anyone could ever need,” Clint said, grinning as he signed. He tilted his head a bit, raising one eyebrow at her. “How many again?”

“Well,” Natasha said, leaning back in her chair as she signed. “I'm reasonably fluent in English, Russian, French, Japanese, and German. Also, ASL,” she added with a shrug. “So six. But I also know some Mandarin, a bit of Arabic, some very basic Spanish, and a little Latin.”

“I also know a little Latin,” Steve said. Apparently signing 'Latin' involved pointing at the face with two fingers. Bucky was probably going to forget that by tomorrow. Not that it was actually a useful sign. How often would he ever need to talk to Clint or Steve—or any deaf person—about _Latin_?

“I know a little Pig Latin,” Clint said, giggling. Then he looked around at the others and added, “But I should point out that I have no idea if that's how you're actually supposed to sign 'Pig Latin'; I just used the signs for 'pig' and 'Latin'. So don't, like, quote me on that.” Then he levelled a look at Natasha, who was smirking, and said, “Tasha, do you know the correct sign for 'Pig Latin'?”

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head.

Clint turned to Steve, but Steve just shrugged and said, signing, “I'm not even sure how to say it in Latin; I'd probably do what you did: just 'pig' plus 'Latin'.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “There can't be a correct way to say 'Pig Latin' in a language that died before Pig Latin was even invented.” Okay, so Bucky was apparently learning the signs for 'pig' and 'Latin'. Go him. Those signs were going to be ultra important, for sure.

The problem was, a lot of the signs seemed to require two hands. Two functioning hands with actual coordination. Actual fine motor skills. Bucky looked down at his left hand where it lay uselessly in his lap. Well, this was going to suck.

“But it's okay if you don't know signs,” Clint said, nudging Bucky a bit. “I'm trying to get better at lip-reading anyway, and if I don't catch something you say, Tasha or Steve—probably Tasha, if she's here—can translate for me.”

Bucky offered him a weak smile. “Oh—okay.”

“It's absolute bull crap, by the way,” Steve said, anger flashing across his features, as he nudged Clint to get his attention and signed as he spoke, “what they did to your hearing aids.”

“What—?” Bucky began.

But Natasha cut him off to explain, “Someone stole Clint's hearing aids and _broke_ them.” The sign for 'broke' (or 'break') was entirely obvious—but it also required two hands. That wasn't really important at the moment, though.

Bucky turned a shocked and horrified expression on Clint. Clint shrugged. “Yeah, I was taking a shower after gym—had to take the hearing aids out, so I just left them on the bench, because I was in a hurry. When I got out of the shower, they weren't there. But they turned up eventually...under the wheels of every bus in the loop.” He shook his head, letting out a disgusted breath.

Bucky looked from face to face to face but made sure to look at Clint before he spoke to give Clint the best chance of reading his lips. “Did you ever find out who did it?”

“Nope,” Clint said, resignedly unimpressed. “I was in mostly regular classes until that happened, but now I'm stuck here with you lot, because I can't read lips well enough to actually learn anything, and Mr Xavier's the only teacher who knows, like, any ASL. I wanted Tasha to just take every single class with me and be my personal translator, but apparently that's 'not feasible'.”

Natasha stuck out her tongue at him. “I have my own life, Barton. And, shockingly, it doesn't entirely revolve around you.” Apparently the sign for 'you', unsurprisingly, was just pointing at the person. It was so obvious, it couldn't really count as learning a sign (even if it was one Bucky could easily do with just his one hand).

“You're here, aren't you?” Clint shot back, smirking a bit.

Natasha sighed, pressing her fingertips into her temples for a moment before beginning to sign her response. “This is my 'peer tutoring' block; I'm not even in your grade.” Turning to Bucky, she clarified, still signing. “I'm only here for one block a day, working as Mr Xavier's unpaid assistant.”

“But very much valued and appreciated,” Mr Xavier put in, signing even though Clint hadn't turned to look at him.

“I'd value and appreciate a paycheck,” Natasha fired back. She signed so fast it was possible she translated for Mr Xavier as well—but then, the gist of what he'd said would probably be obvious from her response, anyway.

Ducking his head, Mr Xavier chuckled. “Get a degree, and I'm sure the school would be quite happy to—”

Wrinkling her nose, Natasha shook her head. “Teaching's not glamourous enough.”

“Thank you for that,” Mr Xavier replied, expression a mix of restrained amusement and mild shock. Oh, 'thank you', though—Bucky had seen that sign before. It sort of looked like blowing a kiss.

o0o

But no amount of appreciation could keep Natasha from her next class, so very soon it was just Bucky and Steve and Clint in the room with Mr Xavier. Bucky had a large stack of mildly used textbooks vying for room on his desk and a full day's worth of assigned homework, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. It turned out Steve—despite his appearance—was in fact in ninth grade, same as Bucky, while Clint was a grade ahead of them. And it wasn't so bad, just sitting quietly together, heads bent over their assigned work. It was quiet, much more so than the Learning Assistance classrooms Bucky'd seen before—just quiet sounds of pen against paper, the occasional creak of a chair, and the soft tapping of Bucky's fingers on his tablet's screen. The quiet was quite helpful, since Bucky needed most of the morning to just figure out what he was even supposed to be doing in any of his subjects. Thankfully, both Mr Xavier and Steve—who was taking most of the same things—were quite helpful as he got his bearings.

“So,” Clint said, looking at the clock and flipping his binder closed. “Almost lunchtime.”

“You're supposed to wait until the bell to pack up,” Mr Xavier chided, but Clint wasn't looking at him. Steve nudged Clint's elbow and jerked his head towards Mr Xavier.

“Eh?” Clint said, twisting around in his chair.

Sighing, Mr Xavier signed while saying, “You're not supposed to pack up before the bell,” but of course the bell rang just as he said 'bell', and he sighed, hanging his head in defeat.

Clint snickered, shoving his binder into his backpack. “Yeah, sure thing.”

Steve let out a sigh as he quickly packed up his own things, saying in a low voice, “Not sure Clint even could hear the bell.” It did make sense that he'd opt for watching the clock; if he tried to rely on the bells, he might never be on time for anything. Steve nudged Bucky's side as he zipped up his pencil case. “You wanna sit with us for lunch?”

“Uh, sure,” Bucky replied as he worked his backpack strap over his uncooperative left arm—he was leaving most of his books on the desk since he'd be coming right back, since he'd be spending all day in the same classroom. (He'd put his tablet securely away in his bag, though—he could deal if his textbooks ended up under the wheels of every bus in the loop; they weren't even really his and could easily be replaced.) It's not like he knew anyone else to sit with for lunch. Then, because he probably should, he added, “Thanks.”

“Do you need to go to the cafeteria?” Steve asked, as the three of them made their way through the door. “We can eat there—but we usually all bring a lunch so we can eat outside on the grass.”

“I...actually brought a lunch,” Bucky replied, flashing Steve a grin.

Steve grinned back. “Perfect.” Tugging at Clint's sleeve to get his attention, he signed and said, “Bucky's gonna eat lunch with us.”

Clint flashed Bucky a smile. “Awesome.” He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head a bit. “Do you need to grab anything from your locker?”

Bucky shook his head, hoping Clint would catch that at least. “Nope.” He could drop anything he didn't need to take home off at his locker at the end of the day, but for the most part a locker was kind of superfluous. “Got everything in my bag.” He hefted one strap with his good hand for emphasis.

Clint nodded. “All right. Well, come on then.” Turning, he led them out through the doors, around a corner, and to a quiet patch of shady grass between the main school building and two kinda run-down portables.

But just as he was shrugging out of his backpack, Bucky frowned, a spike of momentary irrational panic streaking through him. “Did we lose Steve?” The kid was _tiny_ , okay? Easy enough to lose no doubt, but without him Bucky had little to no chance of holding any sort of conversation with Clint.

Clint narrowed his eyes slightly, brow furrowing as though trying to grasp a particularly difficult math problem but then said, “Steve? Oh, Steve's just getting his boyfriend.”

It was Bucky's turn to frown in confusion. “Steve has a—?”

Clint waved an unconcerned hand. “It's complicated—oh, there they are.” Grinning, he waved to two figures who were approaching, Steve and a taller, dark-skinned boy Bucky didn't recognize. He had close-cropped curly black hair and was wearing a blue air force t-shirt.

“Bucky, this is Sam,” Steve said as he slid his backpack off his narrow shoulders and plopped down on the grass next to Bucky. “Sam, this is Bucky, the new kid.”

“Hey,” Bucky said, offering Sam a wave. Bucky mentally sighed with relief at having Steve there once more. Someone who actually knew how to talk to Clint.

“Good to meet you,” Sam said with a nod as he settled next to Steve, their knees touching.

“Sometimes Natasha actually eats with us,” Clint said, pulling an apple and a granola bar out of his bag. “But she has one of her trying-to-get-scholarships _things_ today. I think.”

“Is it the dance thing?” Sam asked, making a sign that might actually have been 'dance' since it looked like a little person jumping.

Steve shook his head. “That's Thursdays.” Unlike Sam who'd apparently signed just the one word, Steve made a string of signs as he spoke. “I think it's the math one today.”

Clint nodded. “Right. Probably.” He looked from Sam to Steve. “You know she actually _hates_ math? She just likes that she's good at it.”

Sam snorted softly. “I think _everyone_ hates math.”

“I don't,” Bucky said quietly as he unwrapped his sandwich. Everyone looked at him. “Um.” He bit his lip. Then shrugged. “I–I d-don't mind math? I mean, I actually like some of it.” And, oh, crap, there's no way Clint caught all of that—but Steve was quickly translating, brow furrowed a bit and chewing on his lip while Clint nodded in understanding. Well, thank God for Steve. Really.

But Bucky still tried not to talk too much. It just seemed like a bother for both Clint and Steve. Especially with his stutter; that just made everything worse. Probably made it a lot harder to read his lips too.

Once he was done eating, Steve slid down to lie with his head in Sam's lap. Sam played with his hair and smiled at him all fond and happy and stuff. Nothing about it looked 'complicated'. Just kind of...sweet. Bucky couldn't help smiling a bit.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said, nudging Bucky's knee with his foot. “You should join Nat's math thing if you like math that much—you'd be one of, I think, just three guys?” He wasn't signing, possibly because he was speaking directly to Bucky and possibly also because his hands were tired. In any case, Clint was focused on his phone and not paying attention anyway. “You'd help balance out the obviously skewed gender ratio.”

Bucky frowned. He'd finally managed to get the straw into his juice box without spilling any and was enjoying the smooth wash of apple juice over his throat. He had a refillable water bottle too, of course, but juice was just—nice. “I thought guys were supposed to be better at math—like, in general.”

Sam snorted softly, plucking a piece of grass and tossing it to one side. “Maybe statistically across the board, but the way I understand it the math club at this school has almost always been nearly exclusively female—last year it actually _was_ exclusively female, but then two guys joined this year.” Bucky shrugged, because he never really paid any attention to who was or wasn't in any math clubs at his former school.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Fitz and Trip—they're in my grade. Nat says they're both good, math-wise.” He wrinkled his nose. “She tried to get _me_ to join, but...nope.”

“So they'd take a guy from Learning Assistance?” Bucky asked, setting his juice box down to tuck the straw wrapper into his lunch bag before it blew away in the wind.

Steve's snort sounded mildly offended. “They only care if you're good at math.” Bucky nodded—he'd never really paid much attention to how clubs like that worked before...and he'd never had anyone suggest he join one. He'd just sort of assumed. Maybe they had too.

o0o

On the way back into the school, they actually ran into Natasha, accompanied by a few other girls, one of whom was almost freakishly tall and wearing a blue Star Wars t-shirt.

“Hey, Nat!” Sam said, one arm looped around Steve's shoulders. “New boy wants into the math club.” He pointed at Bucky as though maybe Natasha wouldn't know otherwise who 'new boy' meant.

Bucky shifted a little as Natasha and her companions turned their gazes on him. He shrugged. “Dunno if I'm—if you need someone to be better at it than me, or...”

Natasha shifted her stance a bit, looking at him consideringly. “What sort of marks do you get in math?”

Bucky shrugged again. “A's.” He hadn't gotten a B since that one test in sixth grade that had just been too damn long for him to finish in the allotted time.

The girl with long black hair to Natasha's left shot Natasha a bright smile. “That sounds promising.”

Natasha nodded. “We meet on Mondays at lunch in room 228. You're welcome to bring your lunch, of course—can't think on an empty stomach.” Flashing him a smile, she added, indicating each one in turn, “This is Bobbi, Helen, Jemma, Laura, and Skye—we're all in the club.” Bobbi was the Star Wars t-shirt one; Helen was the one with long black hair who'd said he sounded promising—both Helen and Skye were Asian, so maybe some stereotypes did remain true.

Bucky was nodding in polite and hopefully friendly acknowledgement when Sam said, “Where'd you ditch the guys?”

Natasha shrugged one shoulder. Jemma—or at least, Bucky was pretty sure that was the one Natasha had indicated when she said 'Jemma'; a girl who looked about fifteen or sixteen with light brown hair pulled back in a neat ponytail—smiled bright and friendly and a little awkward and said, “Fitz had to talk to a teacher about something—I think Trip went with him.”

“Anyway,” Natasha said, “I have to get going, but I'll see you guys later.” She flashed a smile before turning to go.

It was about then that Bucky realized they'd lost Clint at some point. The simple fact that Natasha hadn't been signing anything really should have clued him in, but...it was his first day, still. He wasn't quite used to seeing the signs at all yet.

But then the bell rang and Bucky ran into Clint—almost literally—just outside the Learning Assistance classroom. “Sorry,” Bucky said, realizing Clint might not catch that but still not sure what else to do. 'Sorry' was probably a sign he should learn, actually. One that would probably be quite useful. (Maybe he could look it up on his phone—maybe Mr Xavier would even give him the wifi password so he wouldn't have to waste his own limited monthly data. Or...maybe he could just wait until he got home.)

“No problem,” Clint replied—and he'd probably deduced the apology more from Bucky's body language than anything else; people didn't tend to say, 'Hey, watch it!' quite the same way, after all.

But once they were in the classroom again and seated at their desks and the second bell had rung, someone was still missing. Bucky frowned around the small classroom. “Where the hell is Steve?”

Clint looked at him with complete incomprehension before Mr Xavier finally came to the rescue, explaining—complete with signs for Clint's benefit: “Steve has an art class this period.”

“Oh, okay.” Bucky nodded. He would have liked to take art himself, maybe, but of course the class was already full. And this was simpler, anyway, just being in the same classroom all day.

And besides, he had a hard enough time with his one working hand as it was, just trying to write and type and whatever—why attempt something as obviously difficult as art? He'd done it in elementary school, of course, when everyone did art, but this would be different; he'd be expected to actually be _good_ at it.

And of course there were in fact artists in the world with no hands at all who held paintbrushes in their feet or mouths, but...Bucky honestly just didn't care enough. He could do art on his own time for fun if he wanted. No pressure, no grades. No annoying classmates looking over his shoulder, snickering if his work ended up looking like something a kindergartener might be proud of.

o0o

Maybe twenty minutes of relative silence later, Clint made a frustrated sound and shoved his books halfway onto the empty desk in front of his.

Mr Xavier wheeled out from behind his desk and came to a stop beside Clint's before saying—and signing, “Is there a problem?”

Clint screwed up his face. “Yes, it's called 'math'.” He gestured angrily to his binder. “And I can't do it.”

“I'm relatively certain you can,” Mr Xavier replied, signing, before taking a look at the page Clint had left open.

Clint blew out a disgusted breath, shoving his hands back through his spiky hair. “I'm not sure I can learn _anything_ anymore without Tasha to explain it.” He pouted.

Mr Xavier made a tsking sound. “They don't pay me for nothing, you know.” He signed, of course, while talking to Clint. His eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on the paper, and he grimaced a bit. “This is a tricky one, I admit.”

Bucky glanced over; it looked like somewhat complex geometry. His eyes flicked to Mr Xavier's still perplexed expression. “Math not really your forte, sir?”

Mr Xavier shook his head, signing as well as he answered: “I've always been more of a biology—and Literature—sort of person.” He grimaced. “And geometry?” He tapped the page with one finger then resumed signing. “Well, it's my least favourite of the maths.”

“Let me take a look at it?” Bucky flashed them both a sort of apologetic grin. “Geometry's actually my favourite. I know I'm a year behind that, but...” He chewed on his bottom lip.

Mr Xavier shot Clint a questioning look, signing—in all likelihood, translating what Bucky had said. Clint shrugged, making a face. “Knock yourself out.” He pulled the page from his binder and slid it so it lay between himself and Bucky.

Bucky chewed on his lip some more as he looked over the shapes before him. For tenth grade work, it wasn't exactly anything overly foreign. “Okay,” he said after a moment, tapping one of the lines with his pencil. “This is the same line, so it's equal in both triangles; it has to be, being the same line.” He glanced from Mr Xavier to Clint. “I think that's what you both were missing.” But, damn it, Clint wasn't catching any of this, was he? Bucky scrawled quickly in his awful, messy printing in the margin of Clint's paper, _same line, so = – side-side-side – congruency_ , and hoped that Clint would be able to _read_ it. “Anyway, with what you know already, it's side-side-side: proof of congruency.”

Mr Xavier's expression was both pleased and impressed. “Are you sure you're only in ninth grade?”

Bucky shrugged, grinning and flushing a bit. “I–I've just always been good at geometry.” He flicked his gaze back to study Clint's face, hoping he'd understood the explanation, as fragmented as it must be from his perspective.

Clint was still frowning—no doubt attempting to decipher Bucky's incoherent scrawlings—but then suddenly his expression brightened, and he drew the 'same line' symbol through the offending line. He swore softly, pushing the page away again and pressing his palms over his face. “I hate math.” But then he shot Bucky a smile. “But thank you.”

Bucky just smiled back, because at least that wouldn't need to be translated.

o0o

About twenty-five minutes after Steve rejoined the group that afternoon, he slid a piece of paper surreptitiously under the edge of Bucky's tablet. If Mr Xavier noticed he didn't comment, even as Bucky pulled it out and read it:

_You keep looking at Clint like you want to crawl into his lap – what's up with that? I know he's hot and all, but you literally just met him._

Bucky glanced at Steve, but he had his head innocently bent over his work, expression one of complete, studious concentration. Shaking his head, Bucky added his abysmal scrawl below Steve's much nicer printing to respond:

_I just want to be able to talk to him._

Maybe there really wasn't a 'just', but whatever. He passed the note back.

Reading it, Steve smirked. A minute later he passed back:

_Could always try passing notes to him._

Which was true, of course, but Bucky's hand was already starting to cramp up. And he still needed to get his work done, though thankfully most of that could be typed. Even most of the math could technically be typed if need be, but that was generally simpler to write out by hand. And since he could only ever type one-handed, it wasn't clear which ended up being faster, even if typing didn't tend to cramp his hand.

But the main issue was...Bucky's messy, uncoordinated scrawls probably made him look like a total idiot. Like he was lazy and sloppy and just didn't care. Everyone he knew could print neater than he could, even—or perhaps especially—his twelve-year-old sister.

o0o

That night after supper, Bucky sat against his headboard, laptop on his thighs, chewing on his lip, blithely ignoring what was left of his homework in favour of searching an online ASL dictionary. The signs for 'please', 'thank you', and 'sorry' were all one-handed as well as being simple enough that he was pretty sure he could remember them. (And of course, he'd seen 'thank you' before.) 'Hi' was literally just a wave, and Bucky had to smirk a bit at that. Then he remembered the waves with which everyone had greeted him that morning, and suddenly realized they'd actually most likely all been signing 'hi'.

There were, of course, a ton of signs that required two hands. (Like the sign for 'dance' that Bucky'd actually been right about when he saw Sam sign it—he'd also been right about 'Latin'.) Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd need two hands to say 'math', 'study', 'read', 'class', 'book'...even 'school'. And 'teacher'. He really was screwed, wasn't he? He currently had a ASL vocabulary of exactly six words, one of which ('Latin') was entirely useless. There were actual signs for 'yes' and 'no', but he was pretty sure Clint could understand nodding and shaking his head well enough that he probably wouldn't need those.

Bucky shoved his laptop off his legs in frustration, tilting his head back against the wall to stare miserably up at the ceiling. This was _so_ much worse than either Spanish or French. He might speak with a stutter sometimes, but...well, he'd hardly ever needed to speak any language other than English before. Honestly, he'd _never_ had to; all the Spanish-speaking kids he'd met were trying to learn English anyway. Clint spoke English just fine. He just couldn't _hear_ it.

o0o

Bucky didn't realize he still looked miserable the next morning until Becca came into the kitchen while he was inexpertly spreading peanut butter on toast and said, “Who peed in your cereal?”

Making an affronted face at her he said, “Okay, you can't talk like that; you're only twelve. And also, it's toast, moron.” He rolled his eyes at her as he licked peanut butter off his thumb.

“'Peed' isn't a bad word.” Becca stuck out her tongue at him as she pulled a bowl from the cupboard.

Bucky snorted softly as he held the peanut butter jar against his body with his left arm so he could screw the lid back on. “It is if you're doing it in cereal.”

Becca grabbed a spoon then wrinkled her nose as she surveyed the cereal options. “Did you eat all the Froot Loops again?”

“Nope.” Bucky shook his head as he plopped down in a chair at the table. “You did. And Mom said she wasn't gonna buy any for a while, because they're bad for us anyway—have Cheerios. Or one of those disgusting 'peaches and cream' instant oatmeal things that no one eats.”

Becca stuck out her tongue at him again. “I'll just have Corn Pops,” she said, pulling the box out of the cupboard. As she poured some into her bowl, she glanced over at him, narrowing her eyes. “But is your new school really that bad?”

Bucky sighed, looking down at the half-eaten piece of toast in his hand. “No. It's actually good, I think, but...”

“But?” Opening the fridge, Becca grabbed the jug of milk.

“Hey, can you get me a glass of juice while you're in there?” Bucky asked before she had time to close the fridge door.

Becca rolled her eyes, setting the jug of milk on the counter and decisively closing the fridge door. “I'm not your servant. Also, you'll be having juice in your lunch, and Mom says that's enough for one day.” Bucky stuck out his tongue at her. “Hey, feel free to break the rules,” she added with a shrug of one shoulder, as she poured milk over her cereal, “but don't expect me to _help_ you.”

“I usually spill things I try to pour,” Bucky whined. “Have some pity on your poor disabled brother!”

Becca rolled her eyes as she put the milk away. “Get good, noob.”

Bucky snorted, dropping his gaze to his toast and taking another bite. “You know that's not fair.”

Becca shrugged one shoulder again as she joined him at the table and took a bite of her cereal. “I'd help you if you really needed help.” A wicked grin flashed across her face. “Why don't you ask Mom to help you pour some juice?”

“Shut up.” Bucky took another bite of toast. “But really, I've got enough stress in my life right now; I don't need my baby sister being mean and adding to it all.” He made a face at her. Then he sighed. “I'm trying to learn ASL, but it's impossible.”

Becca tilted her head to one side as she scooped up a spoonful of cereal. “What's 'ASL'?”

“American Sign Language.” Bucky licked peanut butter off his fingers and picked up his second piece of toast.

“Right.” Becca nodded. “But why are you trying to learn it?”

Bucky made a face at his toast. “There's a guy in my class who's deaf. So I can't talk to him.”

“I thought deaf people usually learned to read lips,” Becca said, taking a bite of cereal.

Bucky shrugged. “He said he's learning that, but he's not very good at it yet. And you know how terrible my printing is, so I can't even pass him notes.” He snorted softly at how silly that sounded, even if it was exactly what he'd been doing with Steve the previous afternoon.

“So...” Becca said, lifting her bowl up to drink the leftover milk. “ _Text_ him. He does have a phone, doesn't he?”

Clint did in fact have a phone. Bucky'd even seen him using it. Bucky made a soft self-disgusted sound for not even thinking of it himself then flashed his sister a grin. “Don't let it get to your overly red head, but you're kinda smart sometimes.”

o0o

When Bucky got to the Learning Assistance classroom later that morning, Natasha was the only one there. (Even Mr Xavier wasn't there.)

“Hey,” Bucky said, practising his ASL 'hi' wave before shrugging out of his backpack.

“Hi,” Natasha replied, waving 'hi' in return.

“So, um.” Bucky's brow furrowed and he scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. “Are Steve and Sam dating, or...?”

Natasha twisted her eyebrows at him incredulously. “Weren't they still making out against a wall just out there?” She flicked her head towards the hallway.

Bucky grinned, ducking his head a bit. His cheeks warmed at how blissfully they'd been ignoring everything around them. “Yeah.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, sitting on one of the desks and putting her feet on the chair. “I'd say it's pretty open and shut.”

“Clint said it was complicated.” Bucky frowned slightly as he sat down in his own chair. “Just wasn't sure what he meant by that.”

Letting out an undignified snort, Natasha rolled her eyes. “Clint _would_ say something like that.” Bucky narrowed his eyes in confusion and she clarified, “Steve's been pretty open about being a biromantic asexual. I guess Clint thinks that means he can't 'really' have a boyfriend or something.”

Bucky made a kind of disbelieving face. “Uh...Steve's in ninth grade—we're not supposed to be having sex yet anyway.” Never mind that he still looked twelve. That just made the thought extra weird.

The door swung open and Steve walked in looking surprisingly put-together for someone who'd so recently had his boyfriend's tongue down his throat. “What a lovely morning for everyone to be discussing my sex life.”

Bucky stared wide-eyed at him for a moment before managing to say, “Sorry.” He remembered the sign, so he did that too—likely a bit awkwardly, but as Steve was deaf in one ear maybe he'd appreciate the effort. Or something. Bucky bit his lip as Steve took his seat and folded his skinny arms on top of the desk. Bucky grimaced. “How much did you hear?”

Steve flashed a crooked half-smile. “Just the last part—about how I'm too young to know if I'll want sex.”

“Wow, wait.” If Bucky'd had two working arms, he would have held his hands up in surrender. “That's _not_ what I meant.” It wasn't what he'd _said_ either. But maybe Steve had misheard—or just misunderstood. Bucky sighed, dropping his gaze to the garish orange surface of the desk. Someone had scribbled a dirty word in the corner—it was faded, having likely been scrubbed with bleach, but it was still visible.

Natasha took pity on him and explained, “Clint told him you and Sam were 'complicated'.”

Steve rolled his eyes, snorting softly. “Clint's brain is complicated.”

The door opened again, and Mr Xavier rolled in, a mildly amused look on his face as he surveyed the classroom. “Are we making vaguely insulting remarks about those who aren't even here to defend themselves? I'd hate to hear what you've said about _me_.”

“Actually, we were discussing something much worse,” Natasha said with a prim smile. After a beat, she added, “We were talking about sex.”

Shaking his head, Mr Xavier made his way to the back of the classroom and positioned himself behind his desk. “There's nothing inherently 'bad' about discussing sex. It is, after all, a part of life, and _not_ talking about it can often be a much larger problem.” He offered Natasha a mild smile. “I trust that as my very qualified yet sadly unpaid assistant, you would always steer the conversation in an educational rather than a prurient direction.”

Clint finally showed up then, just as the second bell rang. Glancing at the clock, he said, “Made it...didn't I?”

“Yep,” Natasha said, hopping down off the desk. She smirked at him as she signed. “But just barely.” Clint just flicked his eyebrows unconcernedly and took a seat.

“One thing about this class,” Mr Xavier commented, “taking attendance is always so easy.”

Bucky couldn't help grinning at that, but then he asked, curious, “Before Clint lost his hearing aids, before I g-g-got here, was it just Steve in this class?”

“Nope,” Natasha said, signing far more than just the one word as Clint watched her closely.

“There was that one guy, Luis,” Steve supplied, signing as well, “and his cousin...Ernesto.”

“And Jack,” Natasha added with an unconcerned tilt of her head.

Turning narrowed eyes on Mr Xavier, Steve asked, “Whatever happened to Jack, anyway?”

“Jack,” Mr Xavier replied, signing, of course, “has dropped out. Luis and Ernesto have simply transferred.” Steve nodded and Bucky did as well, because that also answered his question. “It's never exactly been a large class, though,” Mr Xavier continued, “even in previous years.”

There was a lull in the conversation as Mr Xavier accepted completed homework assignments, and Bucky slid his phone out of his pocket and laid it on the desk to open the contacts screen. Trying to ignore how his heart was now beating far too insistently in his chest, he nudged Clint's arm to get his attention, then signed 'please'. When Clint only looked uncomprehending, Bucky slid the phone in front of Clint and repeated the sign. Understanding dawned on Clint's face and he flashed Bucky a smile before tapping his contact info into the phone and sliding it back.

“Upgraded to this century since yesterday, I see,” Mr Xavier commented.

Bucky flushed. “I—” He chewed on his lower lip then began typing to Clint, as he spoke, “I-I-I'm t-trying to learn ASL.” He hit 'send' and waited until Clint was checking his own phone—unsurprisingly, it had no sound other than the quiet buzzing of its vibration to alert its owner to the new text—before continuing, hitting 'send' after each bit so Clint could follow what he was saying at a similar pace to everyone else: “But i-it's harder for me, because I have cerebral palsy—my—” He swallowed. “My left hand doesn't really work.” His left leg didn't work so well either, but that wasn't really relevant. “I'm—I'm also kind of garbage at writing on paper, as Clint—and—and I guess Steve—saw first-hand yesterday.” He ducked his head. His printing really was _awful_. “Part o-of that i-is because I was genetically l-left-handed. It-it's also why I stutter.” He hit 'send' on that last bit then shrugged, before saying (and typing), “I'm pretty decent at typing, though. At least, one-handed.”

“If you're asking for permission to text during class,” Mr Xavier said with a quiet smile, signing as well, “then it's granted—so long as it's no more disruptive nor distracting than simple talking or...” He glanced somewhat pointedly at Steve. “...passing notes would be.”

Steve ducked his head a bit but his crooked half-smile failed to look repentant.

“Now,” Mr Xavier said brusquely, “I'm sure you're all quite eager for today's assignments, so I won't keep you in suspense any longer.” He didn't quite manage not to smile.

Grinning, Bucky texted to Clint:

_Mr Xavier's pretty cool, hey?_

Clint sent back:

_Honestly, he's the best. Well, him and Tasha too._

Bucky sent back a smiley face. Which was kind of dumb, since he was sitting right next to him and could just _smile at him_ , but...whatever.

o0o

The following day at lunch, Bucky sat next to Clint on the grass while Steve sat in Sam's lap and Natasha made up the fourth corner to their little square-ish shaped...thing. She was regaling them all with a thrilling tale of how one of the kids in the ballet class she taught on the weekends had sprained their ankle. Poor kid, honestly. Sprained ankles weren't fun.

Bucky, having just finished the actually somewhat impressive task of peeling his orange one-handed, sent Clint a text:

_Trade you half my orange for half your chocolate bar?_

Clint snorted softly then sent back:

_Not sure that's a fair trade. :P_

Breaking off a square of the Caramilk, he stuck it in his mouth and made a childishly taunting face at Bucky.

Bucky retorted:

_Ikr? You get all these vitamins and stuff, and all I get is sugar with a bit of caffeine._

After hitting send, he added:

_But they both taste good._

Clint snorted softly again, grinning down at the phone in his lap.

“Hey!” Sam said, hucking a dandelion stem at Clint, hitting him in the shoulder. “Are you two sexting or what?” Steve signed, presumably to translate what Sam was saying into ASL. Bucky might have caught 'two' being waved back and forth to indicate both him and Clint—which, logically, probably meant something like 'both of you' or 'the two of you'—as well as something that must have been 'texting' since it was essentially miming texting with both thumbs. (Something Bucky couldn't do of course, but that was kind of the cliche texting...thing.)

Clint made a kissy face at Sam, winking. He didn't sign, just said aloud, “Wouldn't _you_ like to know?”

Sam just snorted softly, shaking his head, but Natasha narrowed her eyes at Clint and said, while signing, “Here I am, making the extra effort to sign everything for you, and you're _not even paying attention_.”

“Um...” Clint chewed on his lip for a moment. He broke his Caramilk in half and handed the half that he hadn't already eaten part of to Bucky. Smiling, Bucky handed half of his orange to Clint. Clint still didn't sign, just said, “You could use the practice?”

“ _You_ could use the practice,” Natasha retorted, pointing at him more emphatically than she usually did while signing. “We both know I'm better at it than you are.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, still stubbornly not signing. “But of the two of us, you're the one who actually has to talk to a deaf person.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha laid back on the grass, feet flat on the ground and knees up. She folded her arms over her eyes.

“Hey, um, Clint,” Sam tried after a beat, touching Clint's knee lightly to get his attention. “I know it's probably annoying for you, having to sign all the time, but...it's helpful for me, trying to learn it—can't always rely on Steve to translate, you know?” He shrugged one shoulder.

Steve, of course, was diligently signing for Sam, but he added, “It's helpful for me, too.” He grimaced slightly, shrugging one bony shoulder. “Sometimes I do miss stuff too. So signs help.”

Clint sighed, dropping his gaze to pick at the grass. He nodded a bit, then began to sign as he spoke: “I know.” As soon as Clint began speaking, Natasha sat up again, possibly so she could see if he was in fact signing. Clint wrinkled his nose. “Sorry.” And of course, Bucky did know that sign, and had a moment of disproportionate pride over it. “I guess—I just get lazy sometimes.”

Remembering his dumb conversation with his sister about the juice, Bucky nudged Clint's shoulder with his own then said, “I get lazy sometimes too.” He only managed the signs for 'I'—which was honestly so damn obvious, since it was literally just pointing to his chest—and 'lazy', which he'd just picked up from Clint. It involved making an 'L' with his fingers and tapping it against his shoulder, and he was pretty sure from the 'L' thing that that one must mean lazy, but he still glanced at Steve and Natasha for confirmation, repeating the sign and saying, “That does mean 'lazy', right?”

But it was Clint who answered, grinning really broad and really bright: “Yeah, that one—” He repeated the sign. “—means 'lazy'.” His smile softened. “And also,” he added—though Bucky didn't know most of the signs, “you're amazing.”

“I thought—” Steve's brow was furrowed. “I thought this one was 'amazing'.” He made a different sign at the end than Clint had.

“It is,” Clint replied, nodding. “They both mean the same, but...” He grinned, shooting Bucky a look. “This one—” He repeated the first 'amazing' sign. “—can be done with just one hand.”

Bucky kind of wanted to _hug_ him, but he'd really still just barely met him. A hug would probably be weird. He settled for signing, 'Thank you.'

Sam chuckled, then said, “Sorry,” signing it even though Steve, in his lap, was kind of blocking most of his chest. “It's just that—I can't get over how much that looks like blowing a kiss.”

Steve helpfully signed for him, snorting softly himself. But then he stopped, narrowing his eyes and looking from Natasha to Clint. “What's the sign for 'kiss'?”

“Oh, fun ASL lesson time,” Clint said, sitting up straighter. “Okay, so this is 'kiss'.” He sort of pointed with all four of his fingers, first at his jaw and then further up his cheek. “And this is 'kiss' as well, and it's easier to remember.” He made his hand look sort of like a sock puppet—but without the sock—and 'kissed' the air with it. “And this is also 'kiss', but in the 'smooch' sense.” He made both his hands into 'sock puppets' and had one kiss the other rather forcefully. Bucky couldn't help laughing.

“That last one's my favourite!” Sam said, grinning broadly.

Steve signed for Sam then added, frowning slightly and still signing, “But I guess Bucky couldn't do that one?”

Turning to Bucky, Clint waggled his eyebrows and said, “Oh, I think he could do it just fine.”

Bucky blushed, but he raised his jaw anyway, eyes flashing with the challenge. “Yeah, I think I could.” And he grabbed Clint by the back of the neck and kissed him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> According to handspeak.com (which is honestly a wonderful resource that I highly recommend), [it is in fact possible to learn and use ASL with just one hand](http://www.handspeak.com/lesson/index.php?id=5). However, Bucky does not read that part of that site, and even if he did, the site does not offer examples of the one-handed variants of most two-handed signs (at least not that I could find), so he would still generally be confused and frustrated.
> 
> Notes on characters and canon:  
> Bucky's mother (Winifred C Barnes) and sister (Rebecca P Barnes) appear in Earth-616.  
> 'Mr Xavier' is (obviously?) Charles Xavier (aka “Professor X”) of Marvel Comics and various adaptations. His appearance here is primarily based on his appearances in the many X-Men films.  
> 'Principal Grey' is Jean Grey of the same.  
> 'Mr Trask' is Bolivar Trask as he appears in 'X-Men: Days of Future Past'.  
> Fitz, Trip, Bobbi, Skye, and Jemma all appear in 'Agents of SHIELD'.  
> Laura Barton (who here obviously has a different last name) and Helen Cho both appear in 'Avengers: Age of Ultron'.  
> Luis appears in 'Ant-Man'. Ernesto is mentioned as his cousin but I don't think he actually appears on screen.  
> 'Jack' is Jack Rollins, appearing in 'Captain America: The Winter Soldier'.


End file.
